


Kitchen Table

by nottinghamroad



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Or at least he tries to be, Smitten Foggy, Smooth Matt, i'm a sucker for coffee shop aus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottinghamroad/pseuds/nottinghamroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy and Natasha run popular coffee shop the Kitchen, a spot frequented by many Columbia students. The pair of them attend Columbia part time as well. Every day, a handsome blind man comes in at the same time and orders the same latte from the same Foggy. One day, they decide to take their flirtation beyond the Kitchen's four walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vanilla Latte

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for coffee shop AUs. I also need some fluff in my life though knowing me, it will get angsty at some point. sorry. but mostly fluff ahead. enjoy, try not to rot your teeth! 
> 
> If you want to come cry about daredevil S2 with me, come to [my tumblr](ecologistsarealwaysfine.tumblr.com). It is a home for every ship you could imagine.
> 
> E rating will eventually be earned. >:)

The telltale click of the cane on the floor alerted Foggy to the presence of his favorite customer. He may or may not have waited every day to start the second line at the Kitchen to accommodate the man in the John Lennon-y sunglasses right away. 

"Good morning, Foggy," the man said in his pleasant voice. Foggy tried not to focus on the particularly good-looking swoop of his hair this morning. 

"I'm still not sure how you remember it's me, Matt," Foggy immediately began ringing up Matt's vanilla latte and held out his hand for the payment. 

"It's uh," Matt paused and smiled, almost to himself. "It's your cologne. It smells a little bit like cinnamon, among other things. Are you ready for me to pay you?"

"Yeah," Foggy said, trying to hide his blush that Matt remembered the cologne that he wore, and definitely not planning to go buy up the department store's remaining stock once his shift was over. Though he didn't know why he bothered trying to hide his blush from a blind man. He took Matt's proffered credit card, ran it, and set about making his drink. 

"Nelson, tone it down a little, would you?" His co-owner, Natasha, elbowed him as he walked by.

"There's nothing to tone down, Romanov. Everything's completely normal, I'm just off to make a vanilla latte for a customer." 

"Oh I'm sure you are, about to go make something else for that customer, too," her voice was low, the teasing tone unmistakable. 

"That innuendo doesn't even make sense," he hissed in her ear, drowned out by the hiss of the steam warming the milk. 

He finished making the latte and spent more time than was strictly necessary on the art while he was pouring the milk. And like he did every day, he quickly scrawled his phone number across the bottom of the cup along with Matt's name, very carefully scripted. 

"The whole thing about blind people having heightened other senses is a myth, you know," Matt's voice was suddenly much nearer to him than Foggy anticipated, and he nearly spilled the carefully crafted latte. "It's a little tough to hear you over the steam." 

"Yeah, well, maybe you'll get some well meaning Boy Scout to help you out, since you can't hear what I'm writing," Foggy handed Matt the latte. 

"I imagine you're writing either your phone number or a bad pick up line," Matt was smiling that stupid little secret smile of his that made Foggy's heart do the most embarrassing backflip in his chest. 

"Well, you're not wrong," Foggy muttered. Matt laughed. "I thought you said you couldn't hear me back here!" Foggy protested.

"I can't," said Matt, and he clicked his way out of the store. Foggy felt for a brief moment that he needed to sit down. This was growing absurd. Their morning flirtation had been carrying on for a few weeks now, and every time Matt's face was growing more unbearable for Foggy to look at. It was as if the smug brunette knew the effect he had on Foggy and did what he could to make it as strong as possible every day. 

"You're pathetic," Natasha told Foggy, zipping by him to hand a steaming drink to a customer. Foggy shook his head experimentally, as if that would allow him to clear his head of whatever fog Matt had left there. It didn't work well, but there was a morning rush to tend to. 

_______________

"So what do you do in these parts, then?" Foggy immediately regretted the way he asked the question. It sounded like he was a damn cowboy trying to mosey up to the bar or something equally as stupid. 

"I'm finishing up my law degree, actually," Matt told him, laying his fingers delicately on the counter, presumably to figure out how close he was to the cash register. He felt the outside of his pockets and dug his fingers into one of them to extract his wallet, and Foggy was definitely not thinking about those fingers skimming over his own waist and digging into other places, no, he definitely was not thinking about that. 

"I'm at Columbia too, part time," was all Foggy was able to choke out, embarrassed that the words weren't as smooth as he wanted them to be. 

"We've shared quite a few classes, Foggy," Matt's rich voice was laced with amusement, and suddenly it dawned on Foggy that Matt was a very familiar figure indeed, and _why_ hadn't he noticed this two weeks ago and made the debonair entrance of which he knew he was capable? 

"Right," was what he said instead. "Right. God, I'm an idiot. Next, I think you should wear bright pink shirts every day and see how long it takes me to notice. That's why they call me Eagle Eyes, as you may well know." 

"Only if you help me pick one out," Matt told him, and Foggy fumbled Matt's credit card as he was handing it over, realizing the mistake in his turn of phrase. 

"What, you couldn't?" He blurted out, wondering if one could even make jokes about these things. He busied himself with latte preparation while Matt hung around nearby. 

"I have been told my sense of color coordination is not the best," Matt smirked that stupid smirk again and Foggy had to keep himself from biting his lip. 

"It's a date, then," Foggy handed Matt his latte and held his breath as Matt reached for the reusable mug he brought religiously. Their fingers brushed as the transfer was made, and that shouldn't have made Foggy's stomach lurch, shouldn't have made his fingers feel briefly electric, but it did, and _dear god_ he was hopeless already. 

"It's a date," Matt repeated, flashing Foggy a smile that was beyond his usual secretive smirk, that was actually kind of dazzling and Foggy was pretty sure some little gremlin was inflating a balloon in his chest. 

It was only after Matt left the store that he wondered if they had actually established when said date would occur. He was able to vaguely put it in the back of his mind as the day carried on, and fended off teases from Natasha in truly the most valiant of ways. 

They arrived at closing, and Foggy was cleaning the espresso machine when he sensed Natasha behind him. Mainly because she was periodically poking at his spine. 

"Do you have something to say, madam co-owner?" He folded up the rag he was using in a painstaking manner because he knew it would make her even more impatient, and then he turned around to face her. 

"He's a catch, that blind dude," she said, folding her arms and looking at Foggy. "He's awfully handsome." 

"I know that," Foggy said, wishing there was some way he could physically force the blush that was rising to his cheeks back down. 

"Thing is, I know of him." Natasha was giving him a sharper look; her 'I know what's best and I have something to protect' look. Foggy wasn't sure whether to bristle in indignation or quirk a smile at her protectiveness. 

"Go on, what do you know of him. Is he secretly a drug dealer? Am I going to need to ask your permission next time I want to go out, so you can meet him on the front porch with your .22 holstered and prominently displayed?" Foggy mimicked the position Natasha often adopted when she wanted to enlighten someone about a new name on her List. 

"Not anything like that," she said, "he's not officially on the List. But he's a player, Fogs. Word around campus is that he's not ever held down a girlfriend or boyfriend past the second or third night. And that’s the nicest stuff they say." Natasha took classes part-time, like Foggy, but also made it her mission to get to know the Columbia campus as the students frequented the Kitchen coffee shop. 

"I'm sure that's just talk," Foggy said airily, ignoring the tiny seed of doubt she had planted. 

"Talk always has a root of truth," Natasha countered.

"If we believed all the gossip we heard, then I maintain my ample physique by consuming the sweets that you steal from children." Foggy was ready to end this conversation.

"I just want you to be careful, that's all," Natasha unfolded her arms. 

"I will be," Foggy insisted. Then, unable to help himself, he pulled Natasha into a hug. And ignored her initial grunt of displeasure. 

"Fine," she huffed. "Love you."

"I love you too, Natty McGee," Foggy petted her hair in a somewhat exaggerated manner, and somewhat out of genuine affection for the woman who had become like his sister ever since they had become co-owners of the Kitchen.

"I hate that nickname," Natasha told him, but she didn't break the embrace.


	2. Kongbap and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Foggy go to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I looked up from the Braille institute some reasons why blind people might wear glasses in order to have Foggy's question be accurately answered. I do welcome constructive criticism regarding that particular issue. This Foggy is not used to Matt's blindness yet and will be asking some questions. My goal is to handle those questions in a humorous and sensitive manner, because this is fluff fic after all.
> 
> Thanks for your comments and lurvveeee it's my air. Come follow me on [the tumblr machine](http://www.ecologistsarealwaysfine.tumblr.com).

Foggy answered his phone on the fourth ring. He was surprised that anyone would call him at all these days as text was the mode of choice among most of his peers. 

"Foggy, it's Matt." His voice came through the other end of the pone and Foggy found himself not caring at all about the mode of communication used. 

"I see you got some unwitting Boy Scout to read you my number after all."

"My next door neighbor is very patient that way, yes." 

"Glad someone was able to pick up what I was putting down, anyways," 

"Oh I was picking it up," Matt said, and Foggy was damned if he couldn't hear Matt's smile. 

"Anyways, we don't actually have to pick you out a pink shirt," Foggy continued, "I will be the bigger person and admit that I just said that to get you to go on a date with me." 

"I gathered as much. There's actually a new Korean place down the way from the campus law building that I've been meaning to try for awhile now, if you're into that?" Matt's voice trailed off a little bit at the end of the sentence. Foggy chose to read that as a tiny bit of adorable nervousness on Matt's part, and that bolstered his confidence. 

"Korean is great, and I actually know the place you're talking about." 

"Tonight, then?" Matt asked. Foggy gulped and hoped to god it wasn't audible. So there would be no multi-day pumping-up period, then. 

"Uh, yeah! Yep, of course, I'll clear things out, not that there was much in my schedule to begin with, ha, but we can just zip on down there and have ourselves a nice rimming. Dinner. God. Dinner." Foggy actually clapped a hand to his forehead and cursed his tendency to babble when he was nervous. Once he had gotten over himself a little he could hear Matt's quiet laughter on the other side of the phone. 

"I'll just--" Matt began,

"Pretend that never happened? Great, it'll be a public service to all of us," Foggy jumped in, not even wanting to know where Matt's sentence was about to go. 

"Yep," Matt was holding in another laugh. Foggy could tell. 

"Yep," he answered. "Fine. See you in an hour." 

 

Foggy wanted to curse the entire damn world for Matt looking so effortlessly handsome. How did he even manage to choose such excellent suits, anyways? He looked down at his own button-down and slacks combination and knew it just didn’t measure up. 

“I hope you’re not worrying about your outfit choice,” was Matt’s greeting as he caned his way over to Foggy to put a hand on his elbow. “I’m not the type of guy to care about those things.” 

“Too cool to care?” said Foggy, definitely not focusing on his elevated heart rate due to the contact Matt was making with his elbow. 

“Definitely,” Matt replied, strengthening his grip on Foggy’s arm. “Do you mind? Restaurant seems a little crowded and I’d rather put the cane away at this point.” 

“Not at all,” Foggy knew he said that way too quickly, and probably with much more eagerness than was entirely warranted. But he couldn’t help the swelling little bubble in his chest knowing that he finally had Matt Murdock on his arm. God, the two of them probably looked amazing. They walked into the restaurant together in search of a table, and Foggy briefly allowed himself to get lost in a fantasy of himself and Matt arriving at some stupidly fancy Columbia alumni dinner in 3 piece suits and attached at the elbow. 

Foggy pulled out Matt’s chair for him, and Matt smiled as he heard the scraping of the chair’s legs along the floor.

“A gentleman,” Matt remarked as he sat. “I will tell you that my spatial awareness in relation to what’s immediately in front of me is pretty good, though.” 

“Well, it wouldn’t be a real date if I didn’t commit at least a handful of faux pas,” Foggy said breezily, seating himself. He could feel himself slowly settling into his element. The charming date was exactly within his wheelhouse, and Matthew Murdock was never going to know what hit him.

“So, uh, how was the day at the coffee shop?” asked Matt.

“Pretty normal, I’d say. But there’s always at least one customer every day at the same time who insists on having the same boring drink. I make it for him anyways, because he’s pretty cute, but it’s starting to make me think that he’s unbelievably boring.” Foggy took a sip of his water and smiled, and then realized he would have to rethink most of his nonverbal communication clues. 

“Vanilla lattes are consistently a good choice,” Matt protested, feeling around the table for his own water glass. “They smell nice, they’re not too overwhelming, and they feed my caffeine addiction.” 

“You haven’t even tried the custom brews I make at the shop,” Foggy set down his glass. “If you’re looking for smells that don’t overwhelm you, nothing is simpler or richer than some drip coffee. And nothing is better than the liquid gold we have on tap at the Kitchen, my friend.” 

Matt took a sip of his water, clearly stalling for time. Foggy waited patiently. 

“Look, don’t judge me,” Matt began, and Foggy dramatically put his head in his hands.

“I’m putting my head in my hands,” he announced. “Because I know what you’re going to say.” 

“That I like sweet drinks?” Matt’s smile was growing wider across his face now that he had been alerted to Foggy’s antics. 

“The horror!” Foggy wailed. “A fluffy drink addict. I cannot believe that I have been waiting to ask you out for this long, only to find out that you don’t even like _real_ coffee.” 

“That’s rich, coming from someone who has the fruitiest, sugariest cocktail on the menu coming to them right now,” Matt fired back, a laugh playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, so I’m guessing you’re the type who likes neat whiskey or some other disgusting bullshit.” Foggy took his cocktail from the waitress and took an exaggerated sip, and told Matt what he was doing.

“You can’t appreciate the taste of whiskey if it’s matted down by coke, that’s all I’m saying.” Matt accepted his drink as it arrived. They both sipped at their respective beverages for a few minutes before dissolving into peals of laughter. Foggy had to swipe Matt’s napkin to wipe at his eyes, as his was otherwise occupied being the makeshift coaster for his cocktail. Their food arrived in the intervening silence. 

“Is there a reason you wear those glasses everywhere?” he asked after a moment. “Is that a stupid question? Maybe I need your whiskey after all.” 

“It’s not a stupid question,” Matt took a sip of his whiskey. “It’s different for everyone. I’m blind, but my eyes are still sensitive to light. So if I don’t wear these glasses when I’m out of my apartment, I tend to get a pretty monster headache pretty fast. Also, I love John Lennon.” 

“I figured that much. So you take them off at home?” 

“The lights in my apartment are considerably dimmer and have been set to my own comfort level, so yeah, I’ll take them off.” 

“No Beatles solos at home then, huh?” Foggy was watching Matt closely; unsure as to how he was meant to navigate any of this. 

“Only when I’m really feeling it.” Matt finished his whisky. Foggy may have been making it up, but he thought perhaps he saw a blush rising to Matt’s cheeks on account of the alcohol. 

Foggy dug into his rice and beans. He became so absorbed in the food that he resurfaced only when he heard Matt laughing at him.  
“That good, huh?” Matt was eating his meal completely with chopsticks, because of course he knew how to use them perfectly, the smooth motherfucker. 

“What?” Foggy asked, setting down his fork for a moment. 

“Sounded like I had walked into a porno for a minute there,” Matt took another bite. 

“I do not _moan_ while I eat,” Foggy was indignant. “I’m just appreciative of good food, alright?” 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Matt was still very deliberately focusing on his food. Foggy abruptly felt something hot coiling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the spices.


	3. Cookies and Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get a cab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I like to burn things slow and IGNORE THE CANON. (if u want to gripe about how s2 emotionally wrecked you come talk to me at [my tumblr](http://www.ecologistsarealwaysfine.tumblr.com).

Foggy lost himself in conversation with Matt as long as he could before he found himself in the restroom dialing Natasha’s cell number. 

“What?” she answered, sounding aggravated. “I was just about to turn on Netflix.” 

“Sorry,” Foggy said, “sorry. I just—I’m in the middle of my date with Matt and I think it’s about to go somewhere fun and I kind of was hoping you could give me some advice.” 

“Dear god, Fogs, I’m not going to give you a sex talk. That’s what the internet is for.” 

“No! No, Natty, I’m not that stupid, I know how to—you know. I know those things.” 

“Didn’t want to know that either.” She took a big bite of something on the other end of the line and Foggy had to wait for a few moments for her to stop chewing. 

“Yeah, it’s none of that. I just kinda-I need some pumping-up, okay? I need someone to tell me I’m—“ he dropped off abruptly, realizing how silly what he wanted her to say sounded.

“You need someone to tell you you’re a stud and that your night will go just fine?” Natasha said drolly, slurping on some drink in what Foggy was sure was an intentionally irritating manner. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Foggy said sheepishly. “It’s just, I, I’ve been thinking about what—“

“About what I said?” Natasha cut in sharply. “Because I hold to it. I still think it’s important.” 

“He hasn’t acted like that all night,” Foggy told her. “He’s been perfectly charming and kind and easy to talk to, and—“

“Jesus, listen to yourself. You are a thousand percent off the deep end for this guy, aren’t you?” 

Foggy didn’t know how to answer that question, but he figured that the silence spoke for itself pretty loudly. He listened to Natasha’s faint eating sounds before she spoke again.

“Look, you know you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do tonight, right?” Natasha’s voice was back to business.   
“I know,” said Foggy slowly.

“Do you, though?” Natasha continued to press him. “Look, I know he’s hot as hell and you’re probably about as ready to climb him as every other not-ace person with eyes is. But that doesn’t mean you have to have sex tonight if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to, I do, I just—“

“There’s doubt in your voice, Nelson. Where’s it coming from?” 

“Look, I’m usually able to detach sex and emotion no problem,” Foggy blurted out. “But I don’t think I can do that this time. There’s something different about him, some kind of connection that I’m not used to and, well—“

“You don’t want to blow it.” 

“You’re gonna have to quit finishing my sentences for me, Nat,” Foggy couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice. 

“Look, you’re not special, I’m just smart. Plus, I’m the mind-reading goddess everyone wishes they had in their lives.”

“You’re amazing, Nat.” 

“Yeah, yeah, and I have more things to do in my life than listen to your problems. Love you, Fogs,” she made what sounded like a kissing noise on the other end of the phone, though Foggy was not entirely sure that it wasn’t just more of her slurping her food. 

“Love you, Natty McGee.” Foggy hung up the phone and slipped it back in his pocket. He left the bathroom to find Matt waiting for him outside.

“Hey, Foggy,” he greeted him.

“Hi, uh, hi. So,” he gestured behind his back, not even realizing that Matt wouldn’t see it. “How much of that did you hear?” 

“Enough,” Matt’s ridiculously red lips spread into a small grin, somewhere in between his usual asshole-ish smirk and the more nervous smiles he had given Foggy in the earlier part of the evening. 

“Great, that’s great. Let’s get you a cab home, then, yeah?” Foggy proffered his arm, and Matt took it. And there it was again, that intoxicating burst of electricity that made Foggy want to forget everything he and Natasha had ever talked about and throw caution to the winds. 

“Doesn’t have to be separate,” Matt told him. 

“I know that,” Foggy said, and he hailed a cab. They clambered in after one another, Foggy taking care to guide Matt as best he could. Matt, true to his word, was in fact very adept at moving around in his immediate spatial vicinity, but Foggy liked being able to hold Matt’s hand anyways. 

“How do you like our class this term?” Matt’s voice was conversational. Very conversational. _Too_ conversational, given the close proximity in which they were sitting and the extent to which the alcohol Foggy had consumed was moving to his brain. Fuck Matt for being able to handle these things without any hiccups at all, honestly. 

“It’s great, you know, if you like shoveling oatmeal slowly into your eyes and hoping something absorbs through your optic nerve. That’s what I’ve gathered patent law is like, anyways,” Foggy shrugged. 

“Patent law is amazing, you can take that right back,” Matt told him, voice scolding. 

“I’m shrugging again,” Foggy informed Matt, “for the second time. Because I would rather try to taste hot sauce by dipping my toes in it for hours on end than attempt to care about patent law.” 

“These metaphors make absolutely no sense, and you are so wrong. This is as good as it’s going to get, Foggy.” 

“Please. You’re going to be a criminal lawyer, I can smell it on you.” Foggy found his shoulder running gently into Matt’s. Whether it was the slight bank of the car as it switched lanes or something else remained to be seen. 

“That’s the cologne, actually. It comes in ‘Defense No. 5’.” 

“See? Criminal lawyer.” Foggy folded his arms. 

“Alright, alright, you got me. Criminal law is probably where I’ll end up, thanks to Hell’s Kitchen being what it is. But if I ever want to retire from how exhausting of a career that’s going to be, I could see myself in patent law. Take on some brilliant inventors, have myself a nice retainer, and retire somewhere in Brooklyn.” Matt’s chin was tilted slightly upwards, almost as if he was staring dreamily off into the distance. Foggy knew he was trying to be funny, but he couldn’t help staring momentarily at how adorable Matt’s expression was like this. 

“Patent law would bore you,” he said, snapping out of his Matt-induced trance. “You have a heart the size of Manhattan, and I don’t think you could ever stop defending the poor and downtrodden.” 

“Come on now, how can you know about the size of my heart?” Matt’s voice was playful.

“I’m not stupid. I see you offering to put half and half into Mrs. Rosario’s milk every single morning, and then keeping her company until her husband arrives. You always let people cut in front of you, even though they’d let you go to the front of the line because of your patented Blind Charm, and because I open up a line just for you. Plus, there has never been a dog in the store that you don’t talk to. You’re a softie, Murdock, and softies defend the downtrodden.” Foggy finished his assessment and told Matt he was nodding decisively. Matt grinned.

“Circumstantial, but I’ll allow it, counselor.” The taxi came to a halt. Foggy looked out the window. 

“This isn’t my apartment,” he observed. 

“It’s mine,” Matt supplied. “Walk me up?” He had opened the car door and was extending a hand to Foggy. Foggy stared at it for a moment, and then took it. He dug in his pocket to pay the cabbie as they slid out of the car. 

“Who’s your neighbor, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” Foggy joked, attempting not to lose focus over the fact that his hand was in Matt’s, Matt’s hand was quite large and strong, and that the warmth was diverting a considerable amount of blood. 

“Something like that,” Matt chuckled. “No one in Hell’s Kitchen lives in a particularly _nice_ part of town, though.” They had arrived at his front door.

“So,” Foggy said.

“So,” Matt said. “It’s been a good night.” 

“It has been,” Foggy agreed. “It has been. What—“ But Foggy was unable to finish the sentence because Matt was running a finger up his arm, like he was tracing Foggy’s outline. It was a feather-light touch that made Foggy shiver. Matt’s hand arrived at Foggy’s cheek, and Foggy stopped breathing altogether. 

“If it’s alright, Foggy, I’d like to, um,” Matt was very close to Foggy. Foggy gave a microscopic nod. 

“Yeah, I, yeah,” Foggy said, and then he wasn’t talking anymore and he wasn’t hardly thinking anymore because Matt’s mouth was gently covering his and something was slowly exploding behind his eyes.


	4. Sunflower and Sesame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm fairly sure you know what to expect. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one ya'll! It's thesis season, so I'm afraid the morning-after chapter will be a little bit delayed as well, though I'm going to get it up (ha) as quickly as possible. 
> 
> Thanks for the love and comments, they've been hugely encouraging over what's been a crazy busy and difficult week! Come find me on [](http://www.ecologistsarealwaysfine.tumblr.com>tumblr</a>%20if%20you%20want%20to%20cry%20about%20the%20daredevil%20season%20finale.%20I%20won't%20spoil%20it.%20\(TEARS.%20IT%20INVOLVES%20TEARS\).)

After a moment, Foggy surged forward with enthusiasm and vaguely heard a thump as he pressed Matt up against his front door and reveled in the glorious heat of their bodies so close together. He took a step closer towards Matt, slanting his mouth over the brunette’s but stumbling slightly on his way in. 

“The fuck—“ he looked down and couldn’t help the slightly manic chuckle that escaped his throat. 

“What?” Matt’s voice was much, much lower than it usually was, a register Foggy wouldn’t quickly forget.

“Your cane,” he told Matt. “You dropped it, and I tripped over it.” 

“You literally moved like a half an inch closer to me,” Matt said, starting to join in with Foggy’s giggling. “How is it possible you tripped?” 

“It’s at a weird angle, okay, and I’m not focusing on that!” Foggy fired back, grinning widely.

“Then by all means, allow me to re-direct your focus,” Matt’s hands slid up Foggy’s arms again, until they found his jawline and pulled him in tight. 

And _good God_ did Matt learn quickly. Foggy had always prided himself on being something of a spectacular kisser. This occasion was no exception, he could tell that he was at least slightly overwhelming Matt in his technique and in his single-mindedness. But Matt was picking up on Foggy’s rhythm _quick_ , and Foggy was _ready_. 

He ran his tongue along the seam of Matt’s stupidly red mouth and the brunette quickly allowed Foggy entry. Foggy felt a familiar sense of euphoria as the intimacy of the kiss deepened, but it was coupled with something dropping precipitously in the pit of his stomach. He paused briefly for breath. Matt wouldn’t allow it, threading his fingers through Foggy’s hair and pulling him back like a man starved, like he had been stranded in the desert and Foggy was the first oasis he had seen. It verged on desperation, and _god,_ , it was hot. 

“So are you—“ began Foggy in between kisses, but losing his focus again. “God, Matt,” he groaned. “Are you going to invite me inside, or what?” Matt moved his mouth to a pulse point on Foggy’s neck and _sucked_ and had Foggy been in complete possession of his senses at that moment he would have been embarrassed at the sound he made in response. 

“Inside,” Matt growled, very deliberately grabbing two handfuls of Foggy’s ass and grinning wickedly at the yelp it elicited from the blonde. 

“Your cane,” Foggy managed, dipping down briefly to grab it as Matt turned and fiddled with the door. 

The door to Matt’s apartment swung wide and Matt stuck out a hand. Foggy took it, and Matt led him to another set of stairs that led up to a small loft. Before they could get around to climbing the stairs, Foggy had pulled Matt in again because really, all the time he had spent not kissing Matthew Murdock up to this point had been an absolute waste. 

They paused for breath and Foggy counted the stairs up to the loft. Twelve, and not too steep. He could do that, right? He could.

“I’m stronger than I look, you know,” he told Matt, speaking right against the other man’s lips. 

“Mmm?” Matt looked as though he was trying to form words, but they couldn’t quite come out. Foggy let his hands slide down Matt’s expansive and strong back, and stopped when he arrived at the best ass he’d seen in all of Manhattan. Then, with a giant heave, he lifted Matt into the air and raced up the stairs. Matt helpfully wrapped his legs around Foggy’s waist, and not-so-helpfully ground his already straining erection against Foggy and began sucking on his neck again. 

Foggy could only hold out these bursts of superhuman strength for so long, and consequently threw Matt on the bed as soon as they arrived at the top of the stairs, thanking his lucky stars that the loft was not terribly large. Matt’s glasses were knocked askew in the process, so Foggy took the liberty of removing them altogether and placing them on Matt’s bedside table. He loomed large over Matt and straddled him, pausing a moment to take in the beauty that was Matt’s swollen lips and rumpled hair. 

“Fuh. Foggy.” Matt was running his fingers up and down Foggy’s hips, his touch feather-light. “These,” he said, tugging at Foggy’s belt loops. 

“You first,” breathed Foggy, sinking down and unzipping Matt’s jeans and tugging hard to try to get them off. This was harder than Foggy anticipated. He pulled again, with more force this time. “Of all days,” he said, still somewhat breathless, “you chose today to wear skinny jeans?” 

Matt managed an airy chuckle and moved to help Foggy with the jeans. “I’ve been told they’re a good look on me,” he said.

“Don’t get me wrong, Murdock, your ass looks spectacular in those jeans. But dear god, it’s like trying to take the plastic off of a CD case or some shit.” They finally got the jeans down to Matt’s knees, making the rest of the process much easier.

“You must be the only person in Hell’s Kitchen—no, probably Manhattan, who still listens to CDs,” Matt told him, that familiar smirk gracing his face. 

“Shut up,” Foggy said fondly, moving on to Matt’s shirt. “Shit,” he said once it was off. “You’re beautiful.” 

“Go on,” Matt’s cocky grin grew. Foggy rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said again. “I’m sure you know.” He leaned in to kiss Matt’s lips again and then moved on to the freshly bared skin on his chest.

“You know,” Matt began, and then paused once Foggy reached one of his nipples and focused there for a moment. “Shit,” Matt added. 

“What do I know?” asked Foggy innocently, looking up from his ministrations.

“I’ve never actually gotten a good look at myself, so-- _shit_ ” Matt was lost for words again, and Foggy grinned, mostly to himself. He continued mouthing over Matt’s chest, moving on to the other nipple after a few moments. Matt’s curses grew more frequent. Foggy was vaguely aware that he was trying to say something smooth, but was having significant trouble focusing. 

“You like this, huh,” Foggy remarked, coming up for air again and brushing his fingers over Matt’s chest. He left goosebumps in his wake and was satisfied at that.

“It’s because—it’s because I can’t see you,” Matt gasped. “I’m focusing more on the other--- _god_ sensations.”

Foggy licked a long stripe from Matt’s chest to his legs. “I thought the whole thing about blind people having heightened senses was a myth.” 

“It is,” Matt managed. “I’m just---I’m just sensitive, I guess.” 

“We’ll pay extra close attention then, won’t we,” said Foggy, moving to Matt’s inner thigh. “God, what do you do every week, P90X or something? Your thighs look like they are carved out of fucking marble.” He dipped his head and dropped three kisses up Matt’s inner thigh, pausing just before his crease and moving to the other side. Matt was positively trembling beneath him.

“You’re a fucking tease,” accused Matt, and Foggy shrugged, continuing his circling of Matt before arriving at his base.

“I’m being sensitive,” Foggy protested, breathing Matt in and delighting again in the resulting shudder. 

“Just—“ and then Matt was not able to form words at all because Foggy had swallowed him down. Really, there were few things Foggy enjoyed more than this. Seeing a partner driven to the edge because of him, shaking and cursing and saying his name like it was a prayer or an invective, which was exactly the type of in-between Foggy wanted to be. He toyed with Matt for a few minutes before sending him over the edge completely and swallowing as best as he was able to manage. 

Some inelegant sputtering aside, he thought he had done a pretty stellar job. This was confirmed by the sheer fierceness with which Matt tugged him up and crushed their lips together. 

“Holy _fuck_ , Foggy,” Matt spoke the words almost directly into Foggy’s mouth.

“That good, huh?” Foggy tried to continue to sound smooth despite the growing discomfort that was his own erection. 

“It was—shit—so—the best—“ but Foggy never did find out what Matt was trying to say, because Matt began doing something _amazing_ if slightly sloppy with his hands until Foggy saw stars. 

Foggy found himself dozing off almost immediately once the white-hot intensity of his orgasm had receded. He snuggled into Matt, trying to memorize the way his skin smelled. 

“You cannot honestly think that you can give me such an unforgiving orgasm and then _not_ clean us up afterwards.” Matt’s voice resonated in his chest and sounded even deeper with Foggy’s ear against Matt’s sternum. He gave a dramatic sigh, and then rose from the bed to retrieve a washcloth. His gentle motion on Matt’s stomach and around his thighs earned him a happy hum from the brunette. 

“Do you like it when people brush your hair?” Foggy was curious. Matt nodded, his breathing slowing as Foggy finished up with the washcloth and deposited it in the laundry basket. 

“I like it more when people wash my hair,” Matt informed him, turning onto his side and drawing his knees up against his chest in order to place a pillow in between them. He patted at the empty space behind him. Foggy filled it easily, enjoying how well and how perfectly Matt seemed to fit against him. He raised a tentative hand and snaked it around Matt’s chest, and was rewarded with a soft brush of those red lips against his hand that were certain to haunt his dreams that night.


End file.
